


Hair of The Saviour

by JustVisible



Category: Devil May Cry
Genre: Bumbling first love, M/M, Other Additional Tags to Be Added, Pre-DMC4, Teenagers
Language: English
Status: In-Progress
Published: 2019-04-18
Updated: 2019-05-30
Packaged: 2020-01-15 22:33:43
Rating: Explicit
Warnings: Creator Chose Not To Use Archive Warnings
Chapters: 3
Words: 8,787
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/18508426
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/JustVisible/pseuds/JustVisible
Summary: The first secret was less so a secret and more a surprise Credo had in store for Nero. Credo was fully intending to tell Nero who he really was, what he really was. Maybe even have Nero join him.The second secret was more complicated, but still, only a matter of time before he'd tell him about it and reveal The Order's plans to him.But the secrets just kept piling...and there are some secrets you can never tell the ones you love.Essentially this is, "What if Credo was the love interest instead of Kyrie?" - A perverted prequel to DMC4.





	1. Credo's Ascension

 He was still left largely in the dark about what exactly went into the ascension ceremony, but he didn’t need to know.

With the light of the cold canopy shining on them, Agnus strapped Credo down onto the altar. Credo didn’t resist this; he understood it was necessary. The ascension ceremony was still imperfect, yes, but what they’d learned was enough to settle him. A strong mind and body was all that was needed to survive. His Holiness had faith that Credo would ascend, and so Credo could have faith too.

While lying there, Credo wondered what form Nero might take after ascension. That is if Nero could behave well enough to advance in the rankings, butthat didn't mean he couldn't imagine it. It seemed one’s very soul was reflected in their angel form. Perhaps his wings would be half formed, or his halo may be broken. Credo knew he would be beautiful, despite that, or maybe even because of it. He almost smiled as he imagined eyes blazing with fire, like in the dreams.

After the last syringe was emptied and retracted from his arm, Agnus took a step back into the shadows that curtained around the altar, leaving Credo alone in the light. There were no puncture marks that remained; they’d all healed over shortly after each dose was administered. Now it was time to wait.   
  
Sometimes it took minutes, for others, hours. For Agnus, he was still waiting ever so eagerly for his turn. It had been days.

A numbing, crawling sensation originated from the place where the last needle had touched. Credo rubbed his thumb over his knuckles and took in a deep breath. This was it, he was sure of it. It spread slowly at first, but soon it began to advance. He felt it in his fingers, his chest, his legs. Heavy and hot. For a moment, it seemed to him as if the restraints weren’t necessary at all. The sheer weight of the serum was enough to keep him neutralised. It was like pumping mercury.

There was a growing roar in his ears; not unlike waves on the shores near his home. He was suddenly reminded of finding shells on the beach with Kyrie and Nero when they were younger. The pleasant memory distracted Credo for a moment.

Suddenly his back arched off the bench and the binds snapped against him.

His blood boiled and crawled under his skin, as if trying to break free from the tight channels of his veins. Each cell screamed for its life. Everything was dyed red behind his eyes, then when he began screaming it went white. It was brighter than staring directly into the sun. White hot pain stabbed him in the eyes and dug behind their sockets, as if burrowing into the deepest recesses of his brain, regardless for the damage it might be doing to him. He threw his head to the side and screamed out for Nero.

He had to fight the forces that threatened to shatter through him, but he could barely know where to start. Credo threw his head back, cracking it against the altar and barely registering the impact.

Agnus watched as Credo writhed and bellowed on the altar. He slowly stalked around the display, watching and waiting to see if Credo was going to crack; go insane like the last captain did. He’d survived longer than expected...perhaps there was a chance. Agnus could barely contain his delight at the prospect. He was dubious with His Holiness’s belief in such a young soldier, especially considering who he affiliates with. Lord knows what could befall them if such insubordination began to rub off.

Meanwhile, on the altar, all Credo wanted was for it to stop. He tried to hold on, to keep still and anchor his mind, but fighting only made it more painful. In one of his arms, he felt like the muscles had collapsed; they seemed to just shatter apart like the hairs on a tense violin bow. He screamed once more; barely a human sound at this point. It was a tortured noise. He saw the light radiating above him bend into shapes and colours he didn’t know existed before. But they always returned to red. Always _red_ …

…In a fever, he prayed for blue again. For the white to stop glaring, for the red to stop bleeding. He wanted blue, the blue of the ocean, the blue of human veins and cold denim.

It was excruciating. Torture in its purest form. With tears in his eyes and feeling like he was experiencing his final moments, he cried out again, “NERO!”

His voice distorted in his throat, before the binds that kept him down burst apart and a wave of force destroyed the machinery that had been buzzing off to the side. Agnus shielded his face just in time.

When the energy disipated, he cautiously looked over his thick arms and gasped. Credo had risen two feet off the altar after breaking free from his restraints.His left arm, once strong and slim and human, had become a hard demonic shell the size of a Knight's Shield. from behind one shoulder, a large, white wing expanded to balance him out. Using them together, he weightlessly hovered above the altar.

“Beautiful…” Agnus whispered, barely containing his giddiness.

Feathers flutter around Credo’s angelic form like white maple seeds. Power pulsed with blue light between the soft pelage covering his shoulders and thighs. Beautiful. But Agnus didn’t see Credo; he saw his work coming to life. He saw his research bearing fruit, and saw himself with Credo’s form.

Soon, the storm in this newly ascended knight subsided. His vision began to fail him, his sense of balance tipping. He was experiencing an exhaustion that went down to the soul. He sank very gently back onto the altar once more, to lay with his golden-tipped feet dangling off the edge.

Very gently and very quietly, he fell into darkness.


	2. Welcome Home

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> This chapter depicts a sexual relationship between a 17 year old and a 19 year old. Though legal where I'm from, if any sort of underage is a hard no from you, then be warned that's in this fic.

Nero had learned to pick up on the different types of silences. So that day when Credo came home after a week, in a brand-new uniform that was fitted to his frame, Nero could feel the warmth in the silence radiating from him. Nero’s radar wasn’t perfect, but he got the impression that Credo was in a very, very good mood.

Nero was soon proven just how right he was. He offered to spar with him out by the docks, and Credo agreed. 

 

* * *

 

Credo circled him, holding his own weapon and shield at the ready, while Nero held his left handed firearm up by his shoulder, and his sword in his right, watching him and circling as well, like a dance partner. The time of day dyed the white of Credo’s suit and Nero’s hair in warm sepia hues, as they each waited for the other to instigate the fight.

Credo wanted to see if his student had gotten stronger, or been lazy in Credo’s absence. He attacked first to find out.

Nero didn’t run on luck anymore; he stepped to the side and brought his own sword down, aiming to connect with his mentor’s shoulder blade. Credo's shield came up and deflected it instead and the younger boy had to table hop out of the way to avoid the following strings of attacks that came in quick succession.

Credo always went at him as if he was trying to seriously injure him. The only way Nero could avoid getting hurt was fight back as if he wanted to kill Credo. After evading a few more times — on the defensive now — he’d gained too much distance between them to utilize Red Queen. He quickly emptied out his live bullets onto the cobblestone and loaded his revolver with non-lethal rounds, as slick as a magician pulling a hat trick. Nero rolled out of the way of a forward thrust, then fired off a round of Blue Rose at his mentor’s head, but the shield was back up to block it.

“Very good,” Credo said as he stood down from his aggressive stance, “Now let’s see that new move you were telling me about. I want to see if you’ve been working on it.”

“New move?” Nero revved Red Queen, “Please, he’s old news. I’ve got two more I’ve been meaning to show you.”

“How I tremble with anticipation.”

Then it was on again.

Credo loosened up on some of his defenses, he wanted to give Nero a chance to try out those moves. He made a point not to give him too much leeway; if the move set didn’t have practicality, then it wasn’t a move set worth investing in. However, it was difficult this time around.  
  
Credo was feeling power surge through his blood, his soul. He’d never been so attuned to the way his own body felt before. He felt himself move through space with each second stretched out before him like minutes. He found holding back felt like he had to imagine chains around his arms, and whenever his strike was about to hit, he’d abruptly pull the leash on his own wrist, to stop it from connecting too fast. From hurting Nero. Yet still, even with this conscious effort to slow down, Nero was barely managing to block. Or dodge. Or even just see it coming in the first place.

At one point Nero went into a blind rage. He brought his sword down heavily on Credo’s shield, two-handed, over and over again as if he was trying to smash his way through his defenses. Credo punished such behaviour by punching the pommel of his sword into Nero’s ribs. The younger man stumbled back, seizing up and rasping for breath. Credo spun his sword in his hand and stepped away, letting Nero recover, hunched over and clutching his midriff.

After a few quivering breaths, the fledgling knight looked up at him through his fringe, smoky blue eyes narrowing. “You’re playing with me.”  
  
“Training you.”  
  
“Yeah? Then what’re you smirking about?”

Credo hadn’t even noticed. He quickly relaxed his face. “Let’s try something else. I want three more repeats of the table hopper dodge.”

Nero groaned dramatically and straightened up. Although, he was smiling, too.

 

* * *

 

The day was winding down, the fishermen packing up, the late afternoon sun winking off the metal of their blades as they sparked off each other. It would’ve been romantic, if it weren't for the two boys going at each other as if they wanted blood.  
  
It reminded Credo of their first spar, and he allowed himself to reminisce. That first day Credo put a sword in Nero’s hand, he knew he was made to fight. Mentoring him had been like teaching a spider how to spin a web, or a wolf how to hunt.  
  
Of course, initially, Nero had just stood there and looked at it blankly. When told to assume a stance, he just stayed squared on with Credo, staring down at the tip of the blade he had aiming at his opponent. Credo’s plan was to knock him to the ground, bruise him up a little bit and teach him lesson number one: feet apart, eyes up.

When he lunged, Nero unexpectedly stepped out of the way. That was a surprise to both of them. Pure luck, Credo thought at first. He followed up with a back swing and Nero managed parry. Sloppily, but he parried none the less. His stance didn’t need Credo’s correction after that; it shifted to accommodate for the second parry. Nero’s eyes were wide but his hands were steady, looking at Credo’s feet and hands now. Credo pressed him harder. Nero stood side-faced now, and was even starting to press him back, taking wild swings after each parry. It took Credo maybe five more swings than intended just to get him to the ground.

 

Now, three years later, with a balanced weapon in one hand, one too powerful for the average swordsman, he was more than capable of keeping up with some of their best knights. Nero had somehow managed to obtain a revolver in that time, though it seemed a bit strange. From what little Credo understood about firearms, revolvers weren’t meant to have two barrels.

Nero was sent back from a rebound off Credo’s shield again, and cursed under his breath.

"I still think you should learn the shield," Credo stated as he raised his weapon, "You leave yourself too open."

Nero shrugged nonchalantly, as if that last strike didn't nearly take his head off, "It ain't a problem if I'm fast enough."

"You're not. You're too much of a heavy hitter..."

"I'll adapt. Now, if you're done chatting," Nero bowed, rolling his wrist, "Shall we dance?"

"Only if it's tango," Credo retorted with the tiniest of smirks, before igniting the propellant on his blade and stepping forward once more.

Nero didn’t have time to parry this attack, he’d been worked too hard and Credo was too close too quickly. He got the blunt side of Credo’s sword brought down on his collarbone, right on an old bruise. Nero cried out, crumbling a bit under the pain. He tried to recover and strike back, but he’d missed Credo’s stance, which should’ve told him another hit was coming. This one drove up into his ribs, right where he’d been pummeled before. Nero brought Red Queen down to meet it, trying to deflect it before it hurt him too badly. It kind of worked, but he still got a bit of the aftershock, and it rippled through him, nearly causing his knees to buckle.

 _Not yet._ He threw himself against Credo’s chest, pushing him back with his shoulder. Credo dropped his shield with a grunt. _Yes!_ Nero pinned Credo’ sword into the cobblestone road with his own, fighting to keep him from furthering his onslaught before Nero was ready to take it again.

Nero glanced up, and was momentarily distracted by just how close they were. His face was an inch away from Credo’s. He could smell the sweat permeating off his skin, mixing with that familiar cologne. It was a weird time to realize it, but he’d missed Credo a whole lot more than he thought. The older boy put up with this for a little while, letting Nero catch his breath against him.

Credo gave him a small smirk, before dislodging the hilt of his weapon from Nero’s, and ending the battle with another hit of the blunt end of his sword across Nero’s stomach. Nero was thrown back, legs giving out, and he landed splayed across the ground from the force of Credo’s finishing blow.

His mentor stood above him, domineering and victorious, the tip of his sword leveled at the hollow of Nero’s throat.

That position was held for a long time, adrenaline still singing in their ears. Credo’s composure crumbled piece by piece, as he watched the young man underneath him struggle for air. Eyes, once wild and fiery, had simmered to coals. One of Nero’s arms was wrapped weakly around himself, the other thrown out to the side. His legs rolled to lay his knees on the ground. He looked like a discarded toy. His posture screamed, _submission_.

Something crackled inside of Credo at that moment. He tightened his grip on the sword, and pressed the tip under Nero’s chin. Nero tilted his head up, following the subtle command. A look in the young man’s eyes told Credo that, whatever was taking place in himself, was taking place in the other as well.

But it was going to have to wait.

Credo sheathed his weapon and held out his hand for Nero to grab. The kid hesitated, but took it after a small moment. He leaned heavily into Credo after standing up.

Nero patted him on the shoulder and said, “Well, you certainly learned a thing or two while you were away.”

Credo murmured, “As did you,” but Nero just rolled his eyes. Credo did a quick scan of the area, to see if anyone had been watching them. He was pleased to see that most everyone had left for the day, or were wisely minding their own business. They headed off back home with a meter of distance between them.

 

* * *

 

Credo was greeted at the door by the scent of pan-fried fish. The nostalgia it brought with it was almost just as palatable, and he hummed in pleasure at it. He was eager to taste something that hadn’t been stewing in a military kitchen.

Credo’s mother hated seeing them in uniform at the dinner table, so after they hung up their weaponry by the coat rack, Credo told Nero to come with him to the guest room to change. Nero shrugged at that. Though once in the guest room, it was hard not to take advantage of the privacy they had.

Nero locked the door and turned just in time to see Credo beginning to undress. He was just picking at his gloves and toeing off his boots. Taking his time. Nero smirked and walked up to him.

As Credo undid the top buttons of his coat, Nero came up to run his hands over the fabric. “I always hated these dumb uniforms.” Nero muttered.

“I can tell, by the way you never wear them,” Credo replied.

However, the way Nero’s fingers stilled under the lapels, his smoky blues eyes drinking in every detail, told Credo that, maybe, Nero liked it on him.

Nero met his eye and whispered, “White suits you,” before leaning in for a kiss.

Credo obliged him, happy to taste Nero again so soon.

Their mouths moved against each other wetly, tasting and feeling all at once. Credo carded his gloved hand through the back of Nero’s hair, humming like he did upon walking into his home. He told himself not to grab and pull Nero’s hair, but despite that he couldn’t stop himself from curling his fingers into a tight fist. Nero’s breath caught, and that made Credo almost yank at the locks in his grip. The threat was there, and he wanted to, but he told himself he shouldn’t. He’d punished Nero enough this afternoon.

Nero dipped his head just a little and lipped at Credo’s chin, where a petite goatee was in the process of being grown out.

Credo moved so his forehead was pressed to Nero’s and he exhaled through his nose. It sounded like he was annoyed, and Nero listened to his tone carefully.

“I think there’s something wrong with me,” Credo confessed after a moment.

Nero frowned, “What do you mean?”

“I keep…” Credo sighed again, wanting to admit that he was a bad person, that he wanted to really hurt Nero during that spar, that he _still_ wanted to hurt him. That he wanted to test out his new strength on him instead of holding back. Instead his hands dropped to Nero’s waist, bringing their hips together. “…It’s hard again.”

“Yeah, mine too,” Nero chuckled softly before palming Credo’s erection through the white cotton, “Should we…?”

“If you want, but decide quickly, dinner will go cold.” Which didn’t need to be said twice.

 

* * *

 

They rejoined the rest of the family fully changed and with self-satisfied smiles.

“There you both are,” Kyrie beamed.

“Just in time for Grace,” the father added, his hands clasped, ready in prayer.

They sat down, heads bowed as their father’s voice surrounded them. Credo glanced out the corner of his eyes, just to check that Nero had his head down too. He discovered Nero’s eyes were open as well. Their gazes met, and Credo was a little off put by the strength of the magnetism he found there. He wanted to just glance, but he ended up keeping eye-contact with him almost throughout the whole Grace. Nero smiled at him gently, before finally closing his eyes in time for the _‘Amen.’_

“Amen,” Credo muttered after everyone else, wondering why his heart was in his throat, before grabbing a bread roll and putting too much butter on it.

Kyrie leaned into Nero to speak, “We were worried you went outside to spar some more.”

“Tempting,” Nero said, forking some fish onto his plate, “But one ass beating a day is enough for me.”

“Language.” Kyrie’s mother, Missa, chided.

The rest of the dinner was pleasant, but largely uneventful. None of them seemed to notice anything was going on between the two boys. Credo was sure to keep touching to a minimal, no matter how soft Nero’s skin might look, or how strong he knew his thigh might feel if he grabbed it. Nero, too, had to be careful not to stare, keeping his glances sparing. However, this was a rare treat.

Credo had no firm frown, not bothering with presentation or barriers, his shoulders hunched a little bit under his soft white t-shirt. He crowded his plate with shrimp, sweet potato chips, a bowl of seafood chowder and bread rolls before Nero took them all. He was devouring them with vigour, licking his fingers of any vinegar.

Soft strands of his mane hung loose in front of his face as he ate. Credo looked like a drummer boy from one of Nero’s favourite bands. Even the facial hair; just with how he’d been growing out his goatee in a way that accented his jaw and chin, it was to look regal and sharp, but in this early stage, it was still slightly scruffy. In time, though, he was sure to look as sharp as a wire, from head to boots. He looked so…laid back.

Nero enjoyed this version of Credo while it lasted.

The out of the blue came: “So, Credo, I’m sure you’d agree that it was about time they gave Nero a higher position, no?”

Nero chuckled, “Thanks, Ben. but I-…”

“Father,” Ben interrupted, before continuing, “And before you argue, everyone at this table knows you should be a Holy Knight by now.”

“Not if he insists on using guns,” Missa said ‘guns’ as if Nero had been flinging mud at the demons.

“Which is nonsense I say,” Ben replied. “The Dark Knight himself used firearms!”

Missa rolled her eyes, “You know that’s just a bunch of mainland nonsense, dear.”

“Just because it comes from the mainland doesn’t make it _nonsense_ …”

Kyrie sensed a debate brewing and so interrupted. “It shouldn’t matter how he does it. Nero’s brave and willing to take on any task, and does it well, from what I hear. They should’ve knighted him years ago.”

“Stop.” Nero was slowly going red from all the talk about him.

Credo decided to make it worse. “I agree. He has a wide range of talents and skills. He learns quickly. He’s a good swordsman…”

“I’m also a whoreson,” Nero grumbled.

“ _Nero_ ,” Missa hissed.

“Sorry.” He then corrected himself, “I’m the bastard son of a whore. That better?”

She just shook her head, giving up. Kyrie just looked at him with a sad frown.

“You shouldn’t talk about yourself like that,” Ben told him firmly. “For all intents and purposes, you’re _our_ son. Whoever made you is not who you are, nor is it of any business to anyone else.”

“It’s true,” Kyrie said brightly. “I think they’re silly not to see that.”

There was an awkward silence for a moment as Nero basked in the radiance of Kyrie’s smile.

Credo didn’t know what expression he was wearing, but when Kyrie turned her head and saw it, her lips thinned and she dropped her gaze back down to her plate, busying herself with wiping up the last of her chowder with a finger of bread. 

 

* * *

 

It had been only a couple of weeks since he was last with Nero, but this was the first time in months that all three of them had slept in the same room. Kyrie was sleeping in the single bed next to the ironing board and sewing machine, while the boys were sharing the double bed on the far side of the room. It was large and spacious, or there had been an attempt to make it so; most of the boxes from decades ago had been stacked and packed away to welcome their three children back. Usually, they’d take residence in the center of town, boarding with other knights, orphans or girls from the choir. They were rarely home anymore. Any of them.

Sleep wasn’t coming to Credo. He felt too warm, too restive with Nero next to him. He looked over and saw the younger boy had already succeeded. He watched for a little while. It was harmless, right? Credo slowly shifted to face him and Nero’s eyes opened. Quietly, he shifted to lay his leg between Nero’s and started pulling more kisses from him. Nero responded drowsily at first, but soon he began to give as hotly as he was receiving, touching Credo’s neck, like he wasn’t sure whether to bring him closer or push him away. 

Eventually, Credo pulled away for him. He placed one hand over Nero’s mouth, the other reaching inside his soft pants, feeling for his cock. The warmth of it in Credo’s palm made him sigh to himself, and he began to roughly stroke the younger boy, dry. As Credo’s eyes adjusted to the dark, he could make out more details in Nero’s face, but only little things. The curve of his nose, touched by the light from the window, the shock of white hair, the way Nero’s eyes almost sparkled in the dark.

He felt Nero lick the hand covering his mouth. Credo rolled on top, and with the spit on his palm, took both their erections into his hand, rubbing the heads together. He successfully got Nero to twitch. 

There was a rustling on the other side of the room, and both the boys stilled as Kyrie turned over in her sleep. Credo listened to his own heartbeat.

"Should we stop?" Nero whispered gently.

Credo didn’t feel inclined to, already leaning in for another kiss. “Just be quiet.”

Nero's lips rejoined with his in a soft clutch. There was so much that was still a mystery to them. So much they weren’t sure a man could do with another man, but kissing? Kissing was universal.

It was soft and new and wonderful. Credo's hand started working again and the moment it did, Nero's breath hitched.

"Just be very quiet," Credo murmured again, before diving a tongue behind Nero's teeth.

Already, Nero's hips were rolling and bucking up into Credo’s fist; sliding the underside of their cocks against one another. Fucking his fist, essentially. True to Credo's order though, he was keeping very, very quiet. The way his mouth hung open slightly, the way his shoulders were trembling, a moan seemed to be ready to roll out at any moment, though.  
  
As Credo felt his climax peering over his shoulder, ready to bite and take him, he quickly leaned over and swiped a handkerchief off the nightstand and covered the heads of their cocks with it. Nero’s eyes squeezed shut and his breathing picked up. The gentle sounds that meant he was close.

Credo planted his face into the pillow by Nero’s head as he stroked them harder, throwing himself into an intensely intimate orgasm. He didn’t stop, overstimulating himself almost, until he felt Nero claw his blunt nails into Credo’s shoulder, his lithe body squirmed underneath him. It was a show he’d learned well; it meant Nero was coming too. Only when Nero settled, did he stop, his own cock numb with pleasure and softening against Nero's stiff one.

Without disturbing sweet Kyrie, they had both managed to cum silently into the rag. Credo panted into the pillow, feeling sweaty and satisfied from his high. He let Nero take his full weight, and the other didn’t seem to complain.

Credo was tempted to fall asleep right there; he felt so comfy...but then, Nero nudged him to move. He did, begrudgingly, after all he had to hide the evidence. He dried his hand and wiped down Nero’s stomach, anything the rag might’ve missed. He then scrunched it up and placed it in the back of the bottom drawer. He shifted to lay down on his side of the bed, lying down so he was facing Nero, trying to paint him in his mind all the details he couldn’t see. Nero stole a few more greedy kisses before rolling over. Credo watched his strong back expand, then deflate with a deep exhale, ready to hunker down and get some sleep.

Credo couldn’t be happier to be home.


	3. Mainland Reconnaissance

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Thank you to [anax](https://archiveofourown.org/users/anax/pseuds/anax%20imperator) for helping with this chapter.

 

It was well after dark when Nero found his way back to the motel where he and Credo were staying. It had only been a day in the mainland, and a day was too long a visit.  He tried to move like he belonged there, but he was always conscious of these _strangers_ all around him, people he'd never seen before. Every turn was a new face, and one he’d never see again. It was just too many people for one neighborhood.  He fumbled a little with the keys getting into the room, and was relieved when he could close it behind him.

Credo was lounging in the middle of the king-sized bed, back against the frame and propped up by three pillows, book in hand. Something with a white cover and gilded edges, which told Nero it was something boring. 

So, it seemed he’d finished scoping out his part of town a while ago. "Find anything interesting?" Nero asked, shucking his coat.

Credo put a place marker on his current page, but didn’t stop reading, “You could certainly say that.”

That…was another good mood. Nero came closer, until his silhouette washed over Credo.

“You’re in my light,” his superior said.

Nero just snatched the book out of his hands. That earned him Credo’s full attention, furrowed brows and all. More gently this time, now that he'd gotten what he wanted, Nero placed the book on the bedside table. He crawled onto the bed, hovering above his mentor with a cheeky grin.

“Well, you’re in mine.”

Credo chuckled, “What does that even-…”

The boy’s kiss cut him off.

Then Nero was kissing down Credo’s neck, tasting his skin with a dart of his tongue between pursed lips as he traveled down. The younger of the pair was quick to open his superior’s trousers, eager to get his hands on him. 

He still had all his rings on. The metal of them was cold, contrasting with the warmth of his palm. Credo drew in a sharp breath when Nero touched him, probably at the contrast. Nero's fist on him was firm, more confident now, stroking him exactly how he knew Credo liked it. 

Credo stroked the inside of Nero’s thigh, still clad in jeans, and the younger boy came up to bite his ear, to show he appreciated the touch. Credo grabbed at a muscle group, and Nero felt his leg tense hard as a rock in his grip, the payoff of months of training; he then reached up at Nero’s zipper. He was no doubt planning to return the hand job, but Nero wasn't in the mood for that, so he grabbed Credo's wrist with his other hand and pried his fingers away from him, so only Nero was doing any work.

Credo made a confused sound, but Nero wanted this. After a moment, Credo relented and let him do whatever he wanted.

Nero continued to slowly jerk Credo off, watching his own hand, deeply entranced with the view.  It was as though he could feel each stroke on himself.  

After a few drawn-out minutes, Nero asked, “Do you want me to suck it?”

Credo made a surprised sound.  "What?”

"I can suck it for you,” Nero told him, lips still close to his ear, almost urgent in his tone. “I saw someone do it while I was doing recon. I want to do it for you.”

Credo was silent for a moment, but he squirmed under Nero's touch. Then, he nodded.  “If you want.”

Nero kissed his neck to thank him, and felt Credo's eyes on him as he bent down into Credo's lap.

Nero swallowed. He’d seen Credo plenty of times now, but he’d never been…up close. He leant in and braced himself for a smell, but there wasn’t any. Not really. Just that same clean musk that was so distinctly Credo.

Nero stroked Credo’s cock once – a long, slow jerk with a tight fist – and swiped away the pre-cum that accumulated at the tip with his fingers, then gave the head an experimental lap of the tongue. Wide and flat. The moment it touched, another pearl of pre-cum dribbled out. It tasted like nothing much, and Nero didn't react to the flavour. 

Instead, he boldly took the entire head into his mouth with a soft hum. 

Credo's leg jerked as if he’d been tapped on the kneecap, “A-ah…!” 

Nero sucked hard and rolled his tongue all around the lip of Credo's helm. Credo made the most amazing, delicious sounds as he did it, encouraging Nero to take more, as much as he could, so that Nero pressed the head of Credo’s cock at the back of his mouth, where his throat was still seized tight, denying him access any deeper. He had maybe an inch or so of Credo in his mouth, and couldn’t help but wonder how the person he witnessed managed so much more than that. Was there some kind of trick, or did he just have a small mouth? He used his hands to compensate for what he couldn’t reach, jerking Credo off in time with the motions of his head.

On a particularly good down stroke, Credo’s hips snapped up. It was so sudden, he managed to sink past Nero’s reflex. It took Nero by surprise and he reared back, turning away to cough into his arm.

Credo started to apologise but Nero just wiped his chin of spit and went right back down to business.

While a shock to his nerves, Nero was undeterred. He couldn’t help but think he wanted to attempt that again, but maybe more in control this time. He tried to swallow with it just in his mouth, playing around with the tip, killing time as he felt out his own throat; he swallowed, dropped his Adam’s apple, just seeing if he could will it into relaxing. To stay open. Like swallowing a pill. 

Fuck it. He dipped down, pressed the head of the cock against that now familiar barrier, and kept going. It seemed as if it was a wall that didn’t ever want to budge. But he curved his head down, trying to imagine the upward curve of an erection slipping down the curve of his neck, like a sheath, so he angled his head to accommodate. A gloved hand rested on the back of his head gently, not pushing, but remaining to serve as encouragement.

Finally, his throat opened, hungry and relaxed, and he slipped inside, as smooth as you pleased. Credo whimpered in pleasure. He went deeper, and deeper, taking inch by inch until his nose was pillowed in Credo’s balls. With the man’s entire length disappeared inside of him, the tip was almost in Nero’s esophagus by the time he’d swallowed his full length.

“Fuc-...,” Credo moaned, his hand now so demanding it felt urgent, forcing Nero’s head down to stay where he was, “yes...just like that...”

Nero just sat there, too scared to move and ruin his progress, but he needed to breathe, so he eventually had to pull away, spluttering and gasping for air. His lips were burning, his jaw was sore, he was tearing up from the discomfort of having something lodged in his throat, but it also felt stretched and empty, just as his mouth felt empty, so he drunkenly went back in for more. 

This time, Credo wasn’t so forgiving in his hold. He forced the motion of Nero’s head roughly. He clearly wanted Nero to do what he just did again, and commit this time. Nero, however, was just playing around at this point though, experimenting with different angles. He tried having the tip poke out his cheek, see if that would work. It was considerably less taxing then taking him into the back of his mouth. It wasn’t really doing the trick, though.

“Y’know…” Credo spoke up, twining his fingers in Nero’s hair. 

Nero came up to look at him, eyes wide and curious. Ready to learn. To please.

“It feels a lot better…” he pressed Nero’s head down insistently then, and Nero followed, taking his cock back into his mouth. But Credo pushed him down more, until his cock hit that barrier again, “…when you take it deeper.”

Nero choked when he tried to force it, but after a few breaths through his nose, fighting against Credo’s grip a bit — yet feeling inexplicably aroused by it — he was able to push forward. Credo moaned as he sank deeper.

He sounded like he was going to come, just from that. Nero didn't want that yet, so he didn't move, staying there, letting his throat adjust to the intrusion. Credo let him, but only for a few seconds. 

“Move, Nero.” He breathed shakily, arousal thick in his tone. “For God’s sake, _move_.”

Nero chuckled; a deep, reverberating sound that tickled Credo further.  An accusation of blasphemy was in the back of his mind, almost spoken as he complied.

Neither of them accounted for the sheer amount of spit. It coated Nero’s chin, pooled at the base of Credo’s cock, where it matted the pubes together.

Nero had to look up. He wanted to see that perfectly severe face soften away into something raw and vulnerable. It was the sort of unkempt expression Nero always hungered to see on Credo. 

Nero decided that this was a great idea.

“Nero, please,” Credo whispered, fingers dangerously tight in the younger knight’s hair, “Go deeper, please. I’m so close…!”

Then he stopped being _close_ and just started cumming. Semen coated the inside walls of Nero's pharynx like honey, and he quickly pulled off. The last few strings crisscrossed his face, nearly blinding one eye, that he luckily closed in time. Credo’s thighs were twitching under Nero’s hands, his crotch tensing to juice out every drip of pleasure that his body could get, basically dry humping the air, searching for friction that he couldn’t handle right now if he got it. Eventually his hips stopped rolling, his strong legs slackened, and he settled into the damp sheets, lax and satisfied. He exhaled through his teeth, clearly trying to tame himself into some semblance of sanity, but he was lost. He was sweating. His hair was a mess. Nero had won. 

The younger boy grinned, wiping some of the cum off his face, before using it as lube to jack himself off. He rested his cheek on Credo’s tummy, content to just study the disheveled vision that he was as he worked himself over.

After a moment, his mentor had pulled himself together enough to notice that Nero was still hard, and now dealing with his erection alone. 

“W-wait…” Credo said, touching Nero’s elbow. Nero waited, his hand staying wrapped firmly around his erection.

Credo slipped down the bed frame so they were laying semi alongside one another. He then pulled Nero on top, so he was on all fours, straddling his foster brother’s head. Like this, they were both an inch away from each other’s dicks. One, flaccid and spent, the other, rock hard.

Nero chuckled because he found the position amusing. But when Credo gingerly began to mouth the tip of Nero’s cock, it became the hottest fucking position in the world. 

He watched as Credo — dignified, loyal, big brother Credo — cleaned the cum from his skin with his tongue. Then he got to work. He bobbed his head up and down, caged between Nero’s thighs, in a motion that looked...incredibly more difficult compared to what Nero had tried. Yet he threw himself into it with such energy. Sloppy and amateurish, sure, but he sucked Nero off with the kind of enthusiasm you’d expect from someone at the peak of their high, not fresh off the rack like he was. 

A saying neither of them had heard but remained true, was that there was really no such thing as a bad blow job. Nero would agree if he heard it, because Credo was working magic on him, with no practice.

“Is this how it felt…?” Nero whimpered shakily, and Credo just hummed in response. The vibrations caused the younger knight to tremble above him, threatening to topple over.

Nero rested his head against his lover’s thigh, and shakily watched himself be milked of cum.

 

* * *

 

Sharing their warmth like this; the kid reckoned he’d never need winter clothes again. It was just so peaceful. Private.

When morning broke, Nero had never been so annoyed to see a new day in his life. He just wanted to stay in that cheap, mildewy hotel forever. Would it be so bad to remain comfortably slotted in that quiet space that they’d made together? Where he was in the nook of Credo’s arm, his face buried in his mentor’s neck, breathing in the scent of their bodies richened by sex. 

No, he couldn’t have that, could he? Instead, morning confronted him with knowledge that this pleasant moment was going to have to wrap up soon, that they were going to have to get up eventually, put clothes on eventually, and head back to Fortuna. Then they’ll pretend like they didn’t do what they just did. Until the next time they did it. Who knew how long that was going to be. Too long.

Nero found himself whispering, “I don’t want to go home.”

He expected Credo to be annoyed with him for that, to sigh at him and explain that they had a duty, maybe bring up Kyrie, the Order, their parents or any of the other stupid, real-life factors that meant that staying like this was impossible.

But Credo was silent, breathing gently as he played with Nero’s hair, familiarising himself with its otherworldly texture.

After a while he whispered back, “Me neither.”

Nero smiled, but it was soured by the sadness of it all.

So, it was up to Nero to say it; “But we have to.”

“But we must,” Credo echoed affirmatively. He pressed a kiss to Nero’s forehead. “When we return, it will be with good news. That much I can guarantee.”

Nero chuckled dryly and looked up at him, “Are you ever going to tell me what you found, or am I just expected to live in the dark forever?”

Credo thinned his lips. He looked like he wanted to tell him, and for a moment it seemed like he was going to. Instead he stirred, nudging Nero off his shoulder, “Perform your duties with grace, move up the ranks…and at some stage I’ll be _forced_ to tell you everything I know.”

“Oh, is that how it works?” Said Nero coyly, “Only _good boys_ get answers, huh?”

Credo sighed through his nose and got up, not wanting to humour that quip.

Nero kept going. “Damn, His Holiness really has you wrapped around his little finger, doesn’t he? I’m starting to get jealous. Should I be jealous?”

Credo’s face twisted in pure disgust, and said “Stop,” before he pulled himself to the edge of the bed to grab his pants off the floor.

And just like that, the warm, intimate Credo seemed to have said goodnight, and he was now back to his usual self. Nero tried not to feel too disappointed about that.

Nero watched his lover’s back for a moment, read the tense shoulders and the bad silence, and decided to lighten his tone. “No shower first?” 

Credo turned to lean closer to him, bracing his arm on the other side of Nero’s hip. “Well…there’s only a bath.”

Nero had a big stretch underneath him, before asking, “Is it big enough for two?”

“I’m sure we can manage.”

 

* * *

 

 

Nero pulled back the shower curtains and studied the mildew on the wall, “Did you not realize this was a shower?”

Credo leaned over him to turn the faucet that controlled the hot water for the showerhead. The plumbing in the walls groaned loudly, but nothing came out. So, he turned it back until the tiles quieted down, “Did you not realize it doesn’t work?”

Nero just said, “Okay, fair enough.”  
  
So he turned the faucet on instead. Nero went to grab some fresh clothes for them both and placed the folded pile on the sink.

“How’d you find the mainland, by the way?” Credo asked, sitting on the toilet with the seat down as he waited for the tub to fill. “I was hoping to show you it for a while.”

“Kind of shit.” Nero said honestly, thinking back to the countless strangers on the street.

Credo nodded, chuckling, “Yeah, certainly makes you miss home, doesn’t it? Not a lot of good to be found here.”

“Well, except for whatever you discovered,” Nero said, leaning against the sink. “And that blow job.”

“Yes, where was that, exactly?”

“Club.”

“What kind of club?”

Nero rolled his eyes, “I dunno, lot of music, long line. Drunk people. Some chick who was coming out with another dude, just dragged him around the corner, I had to check that they weren’t going to eat him and…”

“Yes, I got it. You don’t need to describe it to me.” Credo shook his head but nevertheless he had a smile teasing the corner of his mouth that he was fighting back. “Y’know, I was hoping that you’d just agree with me that this place was terrible, not learn new tricks.”

“Plan backfired,” Nero chuckled. “It’s just like Ben says, ‘not everything from the mainland is nonsense.’”

Credo chuckled with him, checking the temp of the water before pouring some soap into the mix.

“You think we’ll miss the boat at this rate?” Nero asked.

“Probably,” Credo said, “I don’t care if you don’t.”

“You’re right, I don’t. But His Holiness won’t be too pleased with you.”  Then he instantly kicked himself for saying the H word. “I’m sorry…” Nero went to weakly apologize.

It was too late; “You know, I wish you understood what His Holiness was trying to do, instead of jesting about things you’re clueless about.”

Nero paused for a moment, trying to mince his words. “…I understand he likes the sound of his own monotonous voice?”

Credo snorted condescendingly, and Nero prickled, “What?”

“You’re not listening, Nero. He’s trying to show us all that there’s more to life than being tormented by demons for eternity.”

“Yeah, right. Hey, God?” Credo whipped around at the lord’s name and just stared at Nero as if he’d grown a second head. The kid was praying to the roof; “Would you have anything to say about us following a devil’s example?” Then he pushed up his ear as if listening for a reply. “Nothing, huh? Maybe I’ll ask you again on Sunday.”

“Nero,” Credo said curtly, “you don’t just speak directly to Him. Are you insane?”

“Oh whoops, sorry, big G.” Nero clasped his hands together, and looked up at the ceiling again. “I forgot I’m not supposed to speak to You. You never gave a damn about us before, after all. For thousands and thousands of years. Then the deified Sparda shows up, and suddenly, it seems the only one who’s paying attention around here is a-...”

 “Enough!” Credo, despite being stark naked, made a decent crack at looking scandalized.

“What?” Nero shouted back, “Am I not _praying_ correctly enough for you? I don’t need an intercessor!”

Credo just shook his head and turned off the faucet. Without the water running, the bathroom was suddenly so quiet. Yelling no longer seemed appropriate.

“Forget it,” Credo said, evenly, then gestured for him. “Just get in the tub.”

Nero waved him off, “Nah, I’ll wait for you to finish first.”

“Nero,” Credo sighed.

But his subordinate just left the bathroom to go sit back down on the bed. After a moment, the bathroom door closed, but didn’t lock. Nero laid back and looked up at the ceiling for a little while.

He hated mornings like this. Hated being condescended to. So what if his way of dealing with things was different? Why did he always have to watch what he said and how he said it? Like any of that mattered in the first place. Sure, he could be rough, he’d admit to that, but he just wanted to be honest about what he was thinking. One thing he couldn’t lie about is that there were so many things that just blatantly did _not_ make sense about the Order. Maybe Nero didn’t know a lot of things, but he knew more than Credo gave him credit for.

Nero looked up to the ceiling, at the cracks that spider webbed across it, as if he could stare God in the face from there.

“Well?” he muttered quietly to himself. “What do you have to say for yourself?”

Silence.

“Do you think I should go back in there?”

Silence.

Nero just closed his eyes and tried to figure out what an angel might look like. Maybe sitting next to him like a counsellor, or a book keep. Busily writing down each word he said to take back up to…whoever was listening. He hoped someone was listening.

“Between you and me?” he mumbled, “I think Credo’s too good for the Order. Plus, I don’t think His Holiness would be happy if he found out what we did on this little trip. Neither of us regret what we’re doing…but the Order thinks we should. So, fuck them. That’s all I’m really trying to say to him.”

There still wasn’t an answer.

“Good talk,” he muttered.

He sat there a moment more, listening in to the sound of sloshing water through the wall, and already missing looking at his partner’s face. After a while, he got up and walked back into the bathroom.

Nero looked at the toilet bowl upon entering, feeling very naked beyond the literal sense as he said, “I’m sorry.”

Credo kept washing his arms, the ends of his hair wet, but seemed perfectly dry from the chin up, “There’s enough room for two.”

Nero knew an invitation when he heard one.

At first, he sat on the other side of the tub, their legs intertwining, the faucet stabbing into his back. The tub fit them, but only just. They weren’t little kids anymore. Credo gestured him to come closer. He did, sloshing water over onto the floor as he readjusted to put his back to Credo’s chest. This way, he slipped up and down his front, but it was significantly more relaxing.

“I’m sorry, too,” Credo whispered against his cheek. “I don’t want to change you.”

“I wasn’t thinking you did,” Nero muttered.

Credo just stayed silent for a moment as he washed Nero’s front for him.

“Do you want to know something?”

“What you found during recon?”

Credo chuckled, “No.”

“Then no…and yes. What is it?”

Credo touched his ear with a wet finger, “You have the hair of the Saviour.”

Nero knew that. He also knew it was a major factor into why Missa and Ben took him into their home in the first place. It wasn’t like he had earned being adopted over the other kids by being good.

“You’re so beautiful, it’s so easy to think that this body could belong to a gentle, even-tempered saint fit for the Order.” Credo nuzzled the back of the neck. “But you refuse to fit the mould. I really shouldn’t love you.”

“But you do anyway,” Nero jested.

“I love you _because_ of that.” Credo’s reply was earnest.

Nero pulled away just to put some space between them. Credo just took that chance to start cleaning his back instead, sometimes gliding down and around him to clean his crotch as well. Nero’s face felt hot, and in general he just felt uncomfortable with this whole conversation. Now he wanted to be back in Fortuna with a snap of his fingers. He’d had enough of the mainland.

As if he read his mind, Credo said, “We’ve missed the boat, by now.”

“God damn it,” Nero muttered and he wasn’t reprimanded. Instead Credo just chuckled again, and it echoed off the walls.

Nero really hated mornings like this.

Really, he did.


End file.
